FLIGHT OF THE BUMBLEBEE
by SupernaturallyEgocentric
Summary: Sam and Dean are the focal point of the story, but not brothers and not hunters. Sam is an intrepid helicopter pilot and Dean's in way over his head. Lots of action, fun, bad guys, one toothy tiger and several reverent references to Sam's assets. EPILOGUE. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

When he pushed open the airport's heavy glass door, Florida's industrial strength pea soup humidity slapped Dean in the face and, in one long greedy pull, sucked every bit of _oomph_ out of him.

Almost staggering under its pure, unadulterated evil, Dean whimpered, shaded his eyes against the sun's merciless glare, and turned to go back inside.

Fuck this shit. Time to bag the helicopter tour of what was clearly Hell's Freaking Armpit and book the next flight to Disney World.

Then Eddie Falcone slithered up from the depths of his murky subconscious and grinned at him, dimples popping and black eyes dancing maliciously.

Dean sighed.

 _Fucker_.

Stiffening his backbone, he took a deep breath, stepped outside and let the heavy door shut behind him, surrendering himself to the not-so-tender mercies of August in southern Florida.

Luckily, it was a small airport, geared mainly toward tourists taking helicopter tours into the Glades and the surrounding area, so it wasn't too hard to find the copter tour he was looking for. Named Rainbow Tours, according to their website, for more than their bright fluorescent paint jobs, the helicopters stood out gaily amongst their more monochromatic fellows.

When Dean walked sluggishly up to the colorful birds - already second-, third-, and fourth-guessing his obviously very stupid decision - a _very_ tall, _very_ well-built man with short-cropped dark hair and dancing hazel eyes hurried around the back of one of the silent birds and knocked Dean on his metaphorical ass.

"Hey!" The man held out a big, calloused hand and gave him a friendly grin. "Sam Cullen."

Dean stared at him, enthralled.

Enraptured.

Entranced.

 _Shit_.

Smiling down at him, Sam Cullen topped Dean's six feet two inches by at least three inches, each of those inches a symphony of long legs, broad shoulders, tightly packed jeans and colorful tattoos peeking out from the neck and sleeves of his Rainbow Tours t-shirt. He was so unerringly Dean's wet dream, he could have been specifically designed to drop kick the memory of Eddie Falcone straight out into the ozone layer.

After a few seconds, Dean managed to get his brain back online and shake the proffered hand without drooling on it. "Dean Winchester."

"Welcome to Rainbow Tours." Sam looked beyond Dean for his expected second passenger. "And Mr. Falcone?"

"It's just me," Dean said hastily. "Eddie, uh - he couldn't make it."

"Oh, that's too bad." Sam frowned a little, hesitated. "Did the agent, uh, Shelby, talk to you about–?"

"Not getting Eddie's share of the money back?" Dean nodded, inwardly extremely tickled about how pissed off Eddie was going to be. "Yeah, no sweat."

Sam relaxed, clearly happy not to have to deal with _that_ potential minefield. "Great."

Trying not to be too obvious about checking out the pilot's considerable assets below the waist, Dean dramatically wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I'm from Texas, man. I thought I knew heat, but – Damn, how do you stand it?"

"I grew up in Minnesota." Sam grinned, shrugged. "We had to plug our cars in most winters, just to keep the engines alive. I'll take Florida any day. You're from Austin, right?"

"Yeah, just outside. You ever been?"

Sam chuckled. "Oh, _hell_ , yeah! I fly in for _South by Southwest_ almost every year. The music scene is insane there." He waggled his eyebrows. "Not to mention the partying."

"I hear that! I bartend at a place on Sixth Street," Dean said. "San Jac Saloon."

Sam shook his head. "Don't think I know it."

"It's pretty new, just opened a couple years ago. Stop by next time you're in town. I'll stand you a beer."

"I'll do that," Sam promised. He looked at his watch, then up at the sky. "Okay, then, how about we get this show on the road?"

Dean looked at the helicopter just beyond Sam. "Is that the one we're going up in?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "You been up before?"

"Actually, the flight from Austin was my first time on a plane." Dean tried not to look as nervous as he felt, but he was pretty sure it didn't come off, as Sam, obviously used to apprehensive passengers, gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"No worries. I'll get you up and back safe."

Dean wasn't sure whether the renewed butterflies in his stomach were due to the imminent prospect of flying, or the warmth of Sam's hand. "Uh, the Rainbow Tours website says you started flying in the army?"

"Yeah." Smile dimming a bit, Sam didn't volunteer any more information. He opened the copter door, then paused and looked over at Dean assessingly. "You up for a little adventure?"

Dean looked back at him, startled. The helicopter ride was already a pretty big freaking adventure. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

A mischievous look in his eyes, Sam gestured for him to follow and the two walked around the copter to a much smaller bird. "Since it's just you and me, how about we take up the Bumble Bee?" he asked.

Aghast, Dean stared at the copter. His mouth opened, then closed. Finally, he got out, " _Dude_ , it's got no _doors_."

"True, but she's got _fantastic_ seat belts." Sam made a flamboyant gesture, bowing Dean forward to inspect the beast.

Well beyond nervous now, Dean peered inside. Bare minimum was putting it mildly. "Where the hell is the steering wheel?"

Amused, Sam shook his head. "No steering wheel, just a couple of joysticks and foot pedals."

"Oh." Dean's stomach gave a nervous roll. "I don't know. . ."

Sam shrugged philosophically. "Whatever you're comfortable with. We can take Big Bird" – he gestured toward the larger helicopter. "He'll give you a good ride. But Bee Bee –" his grin was wide –"She's so wide open, it's the next best thing to having wings!"

Dean grinned weakly as Sam affectionately patted the diminutive deathtrap. "She's your baby, huh?"

"She is," Sam admitted. "But we can take the big guy up instead. Seriously, whatever you want."

Undecided, Dean anxiously worried his lip, looking longingly over his shoulder at the bigger copter.

What had he gotten himself into here? Shit, man, this whole thing had been _Eddie's_ idea in the first place! Dean had only gone along with it in a futile, last-ditch effort to keep their sinking relationship afloat. Left to him, his vacation would've been split between Disney World and drinking too much beer on the beach.

He looked sideways at Sam, who was waiting patiently for a decision, then back at the Bumble Bee, aka Disaster Waiting to Fucking Happen.

This was _such_ a bad idea! Sweet Jesus, who goes up in a helicopter with no doors?

Dean opened his mouth to put the kibosh on the Bumble Bee. Then he thought again of Eddie.

Rock climbing Eddie.

Scuba diving Eddie.

 _Bungee_ jumping Eddie.

Adrenaline junkie Eddie.

Lying, _cheating_ Eddie.

"Fuck it!" Dean said it fast before his brain could take back over. "The Bumble Bee it is!"

ΩΩΩ

This story is already complete, just doing a little editing. I'll have chapter two up the next day or so.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam took five minutes to go over the flight regulations for Rainbow Tours. Dean retained only the one about keeping his seatbelt on.

Five minutes after that, they were in the air, seatbelts and headsets donned, and sweeping over Everglades City toward the ocean.

Once Dean got over his initial "holy crap, we are freaking _high_ ", he pretty much forgot to be afraid and started having fun as he stared at the miniature city below them.

Everglades City wasn't a big place, less than two miles in circumference. Laid out in a sort of elongated rectangle, it was bisected by a couple of long, meandering canals with a few residential sections and a lot of open area. Most of the houses stood on stilts, which made sense. After all, there was a fuck ton of water around the town, and it _was_ set right up against the ocean.

Less than two minutes after take-off, the Bumble Bee was buzzing over the beach and then out over water. Sam took a couple of lazy loops over a boat heading back to shore, garnering a friendly wave from the fisherman on board, then pointed the bird north along the shoreline.

"I want to show you something amazing before we head over to the Glades. Guaranteed jaw-dropper," Sam promised.

"What is it?"

Sam shook his head and they flew on another few miles, passing over an occasional boat and a few jetskis, then slowed, hovering over a stretch of beach where a couple dozen people stood looking out at the open water. There was lot of pointing and excited gesticulations.

Shading his eyes, Dean squinted out over the water trying to see what all the excitement was about; he couldn't see anything except a few boats. "What's goin' on?"

Sam shot Dean a wicked grin and sent Bee Bee buzzing out to where several boats were making slow, seemingly random circles. "Look down!"

Confused, Dean looked at the water below. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch on to what his eyes were seeing, and then he let out a loud gasp of shock and awe, mixed with a healthy dash of fear.

"Holy _crap_!"

Sharks!

Freaking _sharks_! Hundreds, no, _thousands_ of them, they were _everywhere_ , in every direction, as far as Dean could see, long tails propelling them effortlessly through the water, glistening bodies occasionally breaking the surface. Just the sheer number of them was completely overwhelming.

"Fucking _hell_!" Dean breathed. Eyes wide, he leaned over through the passenger door, straining as far as his seat belt would let him and stared down at the water.

"This is just . . ." Dean shook his head, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. "Incredible."

Sam laughed. "Can't see anything like this in Minnesota!"

Dean stared open-mouthed as Sam piloted them around the vast migration, bringing the copter down a little bit lower every few minutes until Dean could almost feel the spray of water on his face.

"They're mostly blacktips and spinners." Sam's strong hands effortlessly held Bee Bee level. "They migrate every year about this time."

Dean couldn't look away from the graceful dance below. He twisted in his seat, turning round and around, determined not to miss a thing. "Why do they migrate?" he shouted over his shoulder.

"Weather. Food." Sam grinned. "Sex."

As they circled the sharks, Dean took a few pictures with his cell phone, hoping they'd come out okay, and wishing he'd been smart enough to bring his camera.

Finally, Sam said apologetically, "Dean, it's time to move on if we're gonna have any time for the Glades."

Dean took a last look at the sharks, then nodded, a bit reluctantly, and Sam pointed Bee Bee towards shore.

As they winged over the beach, Dean looked down at a few kids skim boarding near shore, waving when one of the youngsters grinned up at them. "Do you think we'll see any alligators? We have them in Texas, but I've only ever seen them in the zoo or on T.V."

"Let me guess," Sam's smile was slightly mocking. " _Gator Boys_?"

"Guilty pleasure." Dean grinned back. "Plus, it's _hot_ when they jump on the gators and pin them down."

"Those guys are nuts," Sam pronounced emphatically. "They got a lot of guts, though, I'll give 'em that. And yeah, we'll see some gators. We'll see a lot." His sharp hazel eyes quartered the sky around and above, the earth below. "Listen, lots of tourists go into the Glades, some on airboats, some by helicopter. "There's a main gate, gift shops, you know. We don't have to deal with that, not unless you want to." He looked over, caught Dean's emphatic no and nodded with approval. "Good. We'll go straight into the Interior. We go far enough in, there won't be too many people around."

As they flew on, what had been rugged land with an occasional house and roads below disappeared and there was nothing below but swampland.

Dean simply stared, mesmerized by its wild beauty. Trees, there were trees everywhere, most he'd never seen before, but he did recognize several different kinds of palms. He even saw a few species of oak and pine on some high-rise hummocks. There were so many trees, and so close together, a lot of the time he couldn't see through to the ground below. Then suddenly the forest would thin and there would be long stretches of water and saw grass and brush, until the trees kicked in again.

What he didn't see was any kind of civilization. No houses, nothing that looked like a regular road, though he did see a few dirt roads that didn't seem to lead to anywhere. And no people.

"Does anybody live out here?" he asked.

"Sure." Sam shrugged. "Five, maybe six hundred people. But mostly it's wild. Gators. Wild hogs. Deer. Some panther, but those are getting rare. And snakes."

Grimacing, Dean glanced over at him. "Glad we're up here, then."

Sam shrugged. "I don't mind snakes, so long as they leave me alone. There's a ton of 'em out here, though. Rattlesnakes, cottonmouths. Pythons. Big ones that'll eat anything they can fit in their mouth." He gave a snort of laughter. "Sometimes even if it doesn't fit."

Seeing Dean's obvious distaste for the subject. Sam smiled to himself and said nonchalantly, "I saw a python swallow an alligator once. Split itself wide open. Alligator was too damned big, and the snake was too damned stupid."

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Dean was appalled. Also, slightly nauseated.

"Nope. Weirdest thing I've ever seen. Couldn't tell at first which part was the snake and which was the gator."

Sure that Sam was yanking his chain, Dean pulled out his cell phone and did a quick Search.

Sam's Alligator Slash Python Combo Platter came up immediately. Complete with pictures.

And video.

"Damn," he muttered. "That's – that's just wrong."

Pretty sure those hellacious images were going to be haunting his dreams for a while, Dean silently tucked his phone away and sent his attention back down below, just in time to see a big alligator gliding across a large pond. "Hey, look!"

Sam took them lower. As the copter buzzed over, two gators sunning themselves on a sandy islet slid into the water, tails thrashing agitatedly.

Sam took Bee Bee higher up, then fished around behind his seat, bringing out a small backpack. "Got some water in here. You thirsty?"

With a nod, Dean accepted the surprisingly heavy bag and dug through it. In the bag, there were a couple liter bottles of water, a first-aid kit, a handful of granola bars and a hunting knife.

In the very bottom, there was a handgun, along with a box of bullets.

Saying nothing, but thinking hard, he took a long draught of water, then handed it to Sam, who finished it.

"It's dangerous out here, isn't it"? Dean asked quietly.

Sam tucked the backpack back behind his seat. "It can be."

"Like what?" Dean pressed. "Besides the snakes and alligators?"

Sam hesitated. "It's just – it's easy to get lost out here. People go missing. Sometimes they don't get found." He shrugged. "It's too big."

Dean nodded, sure there was something Sam wasn't saying, but willing to leave it for now. This might be the only time he ever came to the Everglades. He was going to make sure he missed absolutely nothing.

There was a _lot_ to see. Alligators galore. A small herd of deer grazing in an open area; they showed quick heels at Bee Bee's approach. Sam even pointed out a panther, but the big cat disappeared into the trees before Dean could spot it. He did see what he thought was a very large snake, but it disappeared beneath the water before he could be sure.

"How about we take her down?" Sam asked suddenly. "Just for a few minutes, before we head back."

Surprised, Dean looked around for a runway. "Where?"

Not answering, Sam arrowed the copter towards a clearing next to a large, thick stand of trees, As Bee Bee descended, the tall grass whipped around wildly, then flattened under the lash of its rotors, and what looked to Dean like a large opossum scurried through the grass and disappeared into the underbrush.

Once they were down, Sam cut the engine and the rotors slowed to a stop. The only sound was that of birdsong, and the wind.

Sam sat back in his seat and blew out a deep, contented sigh. "Sometimes I come out here and just sit. Think. Recharge my batteries."

Dean nodded. He wasn't that much into sitting still. Or introspection.

But now that they were on the ground and there were less distractions – falling to his death, mega sharks, and alligator-python death matches - he was able to focus more on the man sitting beside him – the slanted, deep-set eyes, the high cheekbones, his beautiful, golden tan and the slightly beatific smile on his stupidly sexy lips.

He stared at those lips long enough for Sam to turn to him, smile starting to turn sly, when there was a sudden _CRACK!_ and Dean looked around, startled. "Did you hear that?"

Mouth tightening, Sam reached for the copter's ignition. "Gunshot," he said tersely. The engine turned over.

There was another shot over the sound of the engine starting up and Dean said, "It's just hunters, though, right?"

"Probably. You have to have a license to hunt in here." Sam studied his gauges. "But it could be poachers." He looked reassuringly at Dean. "We're fine. But best not to take any chances."

Dean nodded in agreement, and held on to his seat, looking around the clearing.

As Bee Bee lifted smoothly into the air, the bushes on one side of the clearing parted, and a large animal padded into the clearing.

Dean gasped. "Holy _shit_!"

Sam followed Dean's gaze, and his jaw dropped at the sight of the huge striped cat. "What the _fuck_ -"

"I know you said panthers," Dean choked out, "but you didn't say _shit_ about _tigers_!"

"That's because there aren't any!" Completely unnerved, Sam took the copter up higher, keeping one eye on the copter's gauges, the other on the big cat staring up at them.

Suddenly there was the sound of an explosion above the steady _whoop_ _whomp_ of Bee Bee's rotors and the little copter spun sideways in the sky.

"Sam!" Dean cried out. Heart racing, he grabbed on to Bee Bee's side door frame.

"Hang on, Dean!"

Dean hung on, eyes wide and face white as milk, staring at the ground below as Sam fought to steady the copter. She spun once, twice, _three_ times, before he managed to straighten her out.

The two men stared at each other for a long fraught moment and then there was another explosion and the copter slewed around again. Her rotors were slowing, body shaking.

"Dean, hold on!" Sam shouted, wrestling with the joysticks. "I've got to set her down!"

" _Down_?"

"Dean, we're okay, trust me –"

The Bumble Bee started her fall to the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

One minute, Dean was in the falling helicopter trying not to scream.

The next he was flat on the ground, looking up into Sam's worried eyes. The pilot looked a little pale underneath his honey tan.

"Hey, we're not dead," Dean croaked. "Awesome."

Sam blew out a relieved breath. "How do you feel?"

"Eh, I'm good." Dean pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked blearily around. They were about ten feet from the Bumble Bee, who was looking more than a little crunched. "Man, that sucks."

Sam stared gloomily at Bee Bee. "Yes, it does." He gingerly touched a rising lump on his forehead, then got to his feet, pulling Dean up with him.

Moving a little unsteadily over to the helicopter, Sam rummaged around inside and pulled the backpack out from behind his seat. Pulling out the gun and ammo, he thumbed in some shells.

Dean watched him, confusion plain on his face.

Sam stuck the gun into his belt, shrugged the backpack over his shoulders and started walking toward the trees. "Come on, we gotta get out of here."

"Wait, if we leave the helicopter, how are the search and rescue guys going to find us?" Dean looked toward Bee Bee. "Did you call them?"

Sam turned back at the tree line. "Radio's busted," he said flatly.

Dean stared at him, then fumbled for his phone. "My cell –"

"Mine's got no signal. I'm guessing yours won't either."

He was right.

"But the rescue guys, they'll still come, right?" Dean asked.

"When we don't come back, yeah. But it's not them I'm thinking about." Sam settled the backpack a little more firmly and started again into the trees. "Come on."

"Damn it, Sam, wait!" Dean stayed where he was. "Why aren't we waiting for the rescue guys?"

Impatiently, Sam spun to face him. "Because the guys who shot us down are looking for us!"

" _Shot_?" Dean gaped at him.

Puzzled, Sam stared at him, then sighed. "Sorry, man, I thought you knew. Someone shot us down."

" _Who_?"

"The guys who were after the tiger! Now come on! I'd like not to get shot at again!" Sam started off again.

After one last glance at the downed copter, Dean hurried after Sam into the trees. "Who are they? Do you know?"

"Hunters. Poachers." Sam kept an eye out, checking out the forest around them, keeping his voice down. "Well, sort of. Exotic animal smuggling is big in Florida. Mostly it's smaller stuff, snakes, birds, but I've heard rumors people have been bringing in bigger game to hunt."

"Okay," Dean said. "But why'd they shoot at _us_?"

"I'm guessing they thought we were game wardens and they didn't want to go in jail."

"Oh," said Dean blankly. "So. Assholes."

Sam snorted out a laugh. "Pretty much."

There was a shout in the distance. Several seconds later, a second shout, from a different direction. This one closer. They started to run.

ΩΩΩ

Dean was never coming back to Florida.

Ever.

Damned state was _stupid_ hot, breathing its air was like sucking down soup, and it was full of alligators, snakes, assholes who were way too handsy with their guns _and_ man-eating damned tigers.

The only thing Florida had going for it was the totally hot pilot with the amazing ass who'd gotten him into this mess in the first place. Although probably he shouldn't hold Sam responsible for the assholes with guns. Or the tiger. Or, if he was being completely honest, the weather.

The only thing they had going for them right now was the fact they hadn't seen any damned snakes yet.

Wiping the sweat off his forehead for about the tenth time in the last five minutes, Dean looked thoughtfully ahead at Sam and his amazing ass.

Thing was, he wasn't all that sure that Sam was right about them being hunted.

Maybe something had gone wrong with the copter's engine or rotors or something.

 _Maybe_ the lump on Sam's head had messed him up,

Maybe, if those hunters _had_ shot them down, it had been an accident and those guys were looking for them so they could help them.

Maybe they'd been thrashing around in this hot, sticky, _buggy_ jungle for more than two hours for no good reason at all.

Dean was so busy wrestling with scenarios he didn't realize Sam had come to a stop until he ran up on the big man's heels. The pilot spun and clamped a hand over Dean's mouth, pulling him behind a big clump of bushes just in time to avoid being seen by two men coming through the trees with a pair of big-ass rifles.

Heart pounding, Dean started to push Sam's hand away, then stopped, caught by the sudden heat in the other man's eyes. Slowly, not taking his eyes from Dean's, Sam took away his hand and drew his gun. The two huddled together, waiting, hardly breathing, as the two hunters came closer.

"Hold on." One of the men came to a halt about fifteen feet away and leaned his gun against a tree. "I gotta take a leak."

The second man grunted impatiently. "Just hurry up. I want to get the hell out of here."

"Yeah, no shit! Why the hell are we looking for these guys, Felix? It's bullshit! I'm not getting paid enough to shoot feds." There was more than a little anger in the first man's voice.

Dean gave an internal sigh. Shit. Sam was right.

 _Definitely_ bad guys.

"Let's just get it done, worry about the money later," Felix said flatly. "Me and Estella are goin' out tonight. If I'm late again, she'll have my balls."

The other man snorted. "She must be a great lay, all the crap you put up with."

"Watch your mouth!"

A dirty laugh. "Hey, just sayin'."

"Whatever. Just keep it shut."

"Yeah, yeah." There was the sound of a zipper. "I still can't believe that _pendejo_ shot those guys down. All we had to do was split, they never woulda found us!"

"Man wants his trophy, don't he?"

After a little more bitching and moaning, the two gunmen moved on, passing Sam and Dean without ever seeing them.

The two fugitives stayed still and silent for a few more minutes until they couldn't hear the hunters anymore, then Sam let out a deep breath. He started to say something, then his gaze moved beyond Dean and he froze.

"What?" Dean started to turn.

Sam grabbed him by the shoulders. "Don't look. Just follow me."

Dean wanted to look, _needed_ to look, but the look on Sam's face kept him moving forward without a backward glance.

When they were well away from the danger zone, Dean looked behind him. Nothing. "What was it?"

"A big python," Sam said tersely. "In the saw grass right behind you. Twelve, maybe fifteen feet long."

After a fraught moment, Dean said, voice shaking just the tiniest bit, "Good thing I didn't turn around, then. They'd have heard me screaming all the way back in Austin."

At that moment, there was a deep, coughing roar somewhere ahead of them. The sound brought both men to a halt and Dean clutched Sam's arm, hard.

"I vote we go back, take our chances with the snake."

ΩΩΩ


	4. Chapter 4

A few hours later they were crouched a hundred feet from the downed helicopter as the afternoon faded into rosy dusk.

They hadn't seen the hunters again and, so far, no signs of search and rescue. They had heard the tiger at one point, but after a rattling volley of shots, the beast fell silent. Whether that meant it was dead, or had decided to relocate, they had no way of knowing.

Dean was keeping an eye out, regardless.

In his experience, gained through watching countless Hollywood movies, bad shit _always_ happened right after everyone relaxed. So, he stayed sharp.

And he stayed close to Sam, determined not to lose his hot helicopter pilot in what was turning out to be a real shit fest of a day.

Giving him a grin, Sam pulled a bottle of water out of his back pack and offered it to Dean. With a nod of thanks, Dean took a long pull, warmed by and keenly aware of Sam's eyes on him as he swallowed.

The bushes on the other side of the clearing parted.

Sam gripped Dean's arm in silent warning as the two men they'd seen earlier stepped into the clearing, talking. No, arguing.

Dean strained, but he couldn't quite hear what the men were arguing about. A stray word here and there. A lot of angry back and forthing.

After a couple of minutes, Sam stirred impatiently.

"You stay here," he whispered. "I'm gonna work my way around behind them."

Dean's jaw dropped. "What? No, stay here!" he whispered.

Sam squeezed Dean's arm, trying for reassurance. "Don't worry, I'll be okay." He put the backpack down and started to move away.

Panicking, Dean grabbed him. The two had a brief, silent, very tense standoff, then Dean reluctantly released him.

"Just don't fucking die!" he whispered fiercely.

Sam stared at him, a curious expression in his hazel eyes. Then he turned and disappeared into the surrounding trees, gun in hand.

Cursing Florida, the heat, the gunmen, and Sam for being an heroic asshole, Dean put the lid back on the bottle of water and hunkered down to wait. He kept a cautious eye on the two gunmen, whose argument seemed to be escalating. Heh. Maybe he'd get lucky and the assholes would shoot each other.

Nope, no such luck. After a few minutes, the two men stopped arguing and stood stiffly facing away from each other, whatever argument they'd been having clearly not resolved.

Skin crawling with nerves, Dean studied the trees around the clearing, straining for any sign of Sam, but there was nothing.

Good. If he couldn't, chances were the douche bags wouldn't either. Sam could sneak up on them and – what? Disarm them? Take them prisoner?

Shoot them?

Dean examined that possibility, found he was cool with it.

But if, _when_ , Sam did make his move, how could Dean help? Rush them? Or just stay out of the way? He was no soldier, ex or otherwise. Definitely not a fighter. What help could he be?

Dean looked again at the men in the clearing, at their guns. He was afraid. But if Sam needed him, he'd find a way.

Suddenly something hard jabbed him in the back.

"Don't you fuckin' move." The voice was harsh, angry.

Dean froze, shoulders hunched, anticipating a bullet. Seconds later a boot caught him in the back. He fell forward with a gasp of pain; caught another boot, this time in the side, and rolled over onto his back, hands raised defensively.

A thickset man dressed in filthy camos and a double-brimmed safari hat stood over him, pointing a very big gun at Dean.

Drawn by the noise, the other two men bulled through the bushes and now Dean had all three standing over him in a threatening circle.

"Where's your friend?" Camo Man had the red-veined nose of a heavy drinker and a supremely pissed off look on his face.

Dean managed not to look around for Sam. He kept his mouth shut.

"God damn it, where is he?" The muzzle of Camo Man's rifle was about an inch from Dean's nose. His finger twitched on the trigger like he was dying to pull it.

It had been a long day.

Dean had taken his first helicopter ride, been shot out of the sky in that helicopter and had almost (possibly) been eaten by a snake. He was starving, exhausted, and itching like crazy from all the mosquito bites the lovely state of Florida had bestowed on him.

And now, in addition to all that craptastic crazy, he was about to be murdered by someone who looked like he was auditioning for the cast of _Deliverance_.

Dean lost it.

"Who are you supposed to be, the great white hunter?" he blurted out.

Camo Man looked confused. "What?"

"You look like you've seen ten too many jungle movies," Dean babbled on, unable to stop himself. "Is that the hat Stewart Granger wore in _King Solomon's Mines_? I love that movie!"

"Shut up!"

But there was just no way. Dean had kept his fear in lockdown for far too long. It needed a way _out_ and inappropriate bibble-babble was it.

"Granger was hot," Dean babbled on. "But if you want the real jungle hottie, you gotta go for Johnny Weismuller's Tarzan. He was _super_ hot, so long as he kept his mouth shut."

"Shut up!"

"That dude really knew how to rock a loin cloth!"

The big man cocked his rifle and Dean clapped his hands over his mouth.

When Camo Man was sure his prisoner's verbal diarrhea had ended, he jabbed the muzzle of his rifle into Dean's stomach. "Last chance. Where's your friend?"

 _Hopefully getting ready to shoot you._ Dean _just_ managed not to say it out loud.

Silence was apparently not an appropriate response. The big man glared at him, then jerked his head at the two goons. "Get him up."

The goons dragged him up, holding him between them.

Camo Man stared at Dean for one long, fraught minute, then said to the second man, "Hank. Start cutting."

With a wide grin, Hank released his hold on Dean and slung his rifle over his shoulder. Pulling out a wicked-looking blade, he waved it suggestively in Dean's face. "My pleasure, Boss."

Inspiration, or possibly lunacy, struck.

"The tiger!" Dean gasped out, shrinking back from the knife. "The tiger got him!"

Camo Man lowered his gun. "Bullshit!" he scoffed.

The other two apparently didn't share his opinion. Both men looked around nervously. Hank tucked away his knife and unslung his rifle.

"Don't you know bullshit when you hear it?" Camo Man said contemptuously. "That cat was raised in a cage! The only thing it knows how to do is run!"

Not knowing what else to do, Dean held on tight to his bullshit. "It was the tiger!"

"Damn it!" Frustrated, Camo Man released Dean. "We don't have time for this shit. You two, go find him. He's got to be around here somewhere!"

His underlings hesitated, looking from Dean to their boss, then nervously at the jungle around them.

"It's gettin' dark," Felix protested weakly. "Besides, the tiger –"

"Fuck the tiger." Camo Man growled. "Now get your asses out there and find that guy. Dead or alive, I don't give a shit."

Without another word, but clearly very unhappy, the two men moved off into the trees.

With an ugly look, Camo Man hit Dean with the rifle butt in the stomach, hard. "Asshole."

The blow sent Dean to the ground, gagging and trying not to puke. Once he got his breath back, he cast a wary eye up at his captor.

Camo Man gave him a cold stare. "Stay down there."

Dean stayed down, belly aching and mind racing. Damn it, he wasn't some tinsel town damsel in distress, waiting for a rescue. He had to come up with a plan!

Fifteen or so minutes later, brain still fruitlessly churning, Dean heard a rustle from somewhere nearby.

 _Sam?_

Despite his non-damsel status, Dean's heart leapt.

Another rustle, this one louder.

Camo Man heard it, too. He started to look around and Dean said hastily, "Why'd you shoot us down, anyway? Did you think we were cops or something?"

The man didn't answer, just glared at him.

"Guess you were wrong, huh?" Dean's smirk was a little shaky. "Shot us down, lost your tiger –"

"Shut up," the man gritted.

Sam was nearby. Dean could feel it. He had to give him this chance, had to keep this bastard's attention on _him_.

"Or what, you'll kill me?" Dean sneered. "You're gonna do that anyway! At least this way I get to tell you what a moron you are!"

The man opened his mouth but whatever he was going to say was lost in the crash of a large body coming through a thicket just a few feet away.

Both men turned to see not Sam - no, _not_ freaking Sam - the freaking _tiger_ moving in a silent rush, fangs bared, a wild mélange of color and motion bleeding into the air.

"Oh, shit!" Camo Man turned the rifle toward the tiger, but it was way too late. The big cat slammed into him, taking him to the ground and knocking Dean, who'd stumbled halfway to his feet, several feet away in the process.

Stunned from the impact, breath and terror caught in his throat, Dean scrambled away on hands and knees as Camo Man's frenzied screams tore the twilight apart. He made it about twenty feet before he ran into a group of thorn-thick bushes. Forcing himself into the middle of the bushes, he collapsed into the dirt.

Horror-struck, mind shorting out, he heard a thunderous torrent of gunshots and shouted curses. The tiger roared, rage incandescent, and then there was a last scream from Camo Man, trailing off into a wet, choking gurgle.

Silence.

Curled up in a tight little ball, Dean stayed where he was.

He didn't care that he was bleeding in about a million places from the thorns. Didn't care he was sharing space with a smallish snake and what looked a lot like poison ivy.

He was staying right the fuck here until Hell, or Florida, froze over.


	5. Chapter 5

When Dean opened his eyes, it was quiet.

No screams. No gunfire. No tiger tiger burning bright. The only sounds were those of early morning and the soft breeze rifling through the trees.

He lay still for a while, listening to the sound of the Glades around him and trying to figure out what to do. His brain wasn't working very well, though, so after a few minutes he gave up thinking as a bad bet.

He hurt. A _lot_. His bruises had bruises and he was pretty sure at _least_ one of his ribs was cracked. Not to mention the myriad of scratches and gashes he'd scored on the way inside the hellish thorn thicket.

Head aching, brain mush, Dean dazedly tried to focus.

Camo Man was dead, probably tiger scat by now.

But what about his two thugs? If they had any brains, they'd be long gone, but the whole point with being a thug is you were paid for your thugnicity, not your brains. They _could_ still be looking for him, to make sure he couldn't rat on them.

And Sam. Where the _hell_ was _Sam_? Was he lying out here somewhere, broken and dying?

Damn it, was Sam _dead_?

Dean firmly pushed that last thought away. Sam _wasn't_ dead. He was probably looking for Dean. He wouldn't have left without him.

Right?

Dean pushed away that niggling, stupid little thought as well. He hadn't known Sam long, but he knew the pilot wouldn't just leave him, not if he could help it.

So, _he_ had to find Sam, if he could. He'd search the area around the copter, find Sam and try to avoid the two thugs if they turned up.

Dean frowned. Wait, there was something else. Something important. What was it?

Oh, right. The tiger. Avoid the tiger.

First things first. Water. His mouth was parched, and his throat felt like the proverbial highway to hell. There'd been a mostly full bottle of water in Sam's backpack. It should still be in the bushes where Camo Man had nailed him.

Ignoring the shriek of his ribs, Dean got to his feet.

ΩΩΩ

It was a bitch getting out of the thicket. There was a large hole where he'd bulled his way in the night before, but there were still plenty of thorns and every single one of them wanted a piece of Dean. By the time he pulled himself out, he was bleeding from a whole new crop of scratches, and he was ready to upgrade the rib from cracked to broken.

Aching all over, Dean managed to find Sam's backpack after a few minutes search, and nearly wept with relief when he found the water bottle still intact. It felt so good on his throat he wanted to drink it all, but he stopped himself after only a few swallows. He had to make it last. The Glades had plenty of water, but it was full of snakes and crocodiles, plus probably a billion microscopic creepy crawlies. No way he was risking that.

Besides, if, _when_ , Sam showed up, he'd need water, too.

He went through the backpack and found the first aid kit. Wincing through a few of the alcohol packs he cleaned up his scratches, then used up a good half of a big tube of hydrocortisone cream on his mosquito bites.

Feeling a little better, a little more in control, Dean made his way into the deserted clearing and over to the helicopter's crumpled form. He spent a few minutes digging through it for anything useful, but there wasn't much. Sam's jacket, which might come in handy. A baseball cap. Pad of paper. Black marker. Wait. . .

There was half a Hershey bar in the pocket of Sam's jacket! It was all melted to hell, but Dean didn't care, almost moaning with pleasure as he licked it off the wrapping.

Chocolate-sated, he stayed a good half hour inside the crumpled Bumble Bee. Even with the urgent need to find Sam, he was reluctant to leave her. He felt reassured by her comfortable familiarity; he even felt kind of _safe_ , though that safety was clearly an illusion. There _was_ no safety here, not for someone like him. The Glades was for people with survival skills. Macgyver dudes, Gator Boys. People who knew what bugs and plants were safe to eat, people who could keep ahead of snakes, alligators, tigers and gun toting ass hats.

When he finally climbed out of Bee Bee, he stood next to her for several minutes, looking indecisively into the trees.

He wanted, _needed_ , to search for Sam but - Search and Rescue would be coming soon. If he and Sam weren't here waiting for them, wouldn't they spread out, start searching? What if they ran into the tiger? Or the goons?

Frustrated by his own uncharacteristic indecisiveness, and driven by dread and morbid curiosity, Dean walked slowly over to the bushes near the clearing where Camo Man had met his grisly end.

Thankfully, beyond a few splashes of dried blood, there was no sign of the man, except for his rifle lying next to a log. When Dean picked it up, he saw a thick smear of blood on the stock. He stared at it in horrified fascination, feeling a little sick, then rubbed off as much as he could with a handful of grass.

He hadn't had much experience with firearms, but he figured out that it was in fact fully loaded and the safety was off. Clutching it tightly, he felt a small bit of the tension that had been gripping him relax. At least now, if the two goons came back, he'd have a chance of holding them off.

Rifle in hand, Dean decided to make an exploratory circle in the woods around the clearing and see if he could find any sign of what had happened to Sam, making sure to keep an eye out for helicopters, or whatever would be bringing in S&R. Then, when they did show, he'd head back to Bee Bee, so he could let them know what they were in for.

Feeling tired and shaky, but determined, Dean set off.

Fifteen minutes into his reconnoiter, head throbbing and breath coming in short, uneven gasps, he had to stop and lean against a tree to rest. Even through the shelter of the trees, the sun had him dripping with sweat, and his cornucopia of bruises, scrapes, bites and probable breaks had joined forces to form one colossal ache.

He moved on after a minute or two, but, vision blurred by sweat and a worsening headache, he tripped over an exposed root and sprawled onto his stomach. The fall knocked the breath out of him and sent the rifle skidding into the bushes.

"Crap!" Dean started to push himself up, then collapsed back to the ground. Winded and exhausted, he lay still for a minute, trying to get up enough energy to get up.

 _(Chuff)_

Dean froze.

 _(chuff, chuff)_

He raised his head. Slowly.

The tiger lay on its side on a hummock of grass about thirty feet ahead of him, staring at Dean with heavy-lidded eyes. It didn't move. If anything, it looked a little bored.

Dean drew in a sharp breath, adrenaline spiking through him. At the sound, the tiger looked slightly more interested and Dean dug his hands into the grass, trying to keep still. Running away from a big cat like this would be like ringing a dinner bell.

After a few seconds, the big cat yawned, fangs long and curved in the sunlight, then settled with a comfortable sounding _chuff_.

Staring at the tiger, Dean could see several reddish-brown stains on its ruff and for a moment he was desperately afraid he was going to puke. Biting his lower lip, he held on, breathing evenly until the nausea passed.

The rifle.

He cast a quick look toward where the rifle had ended up. It was well beyond his reach.

Screw it.

Keeping an eye on the cat, he started inching his way backward, ignoring the jagged complaint of his ribs. The cat didn't seem to notice; instead, it started to groom itself, tongue working over its fur in long, lazy licks.

Dean had made it back about ten slow feet, when someone suddenly grabbed him by the ankle. His heart leaped into his throat and he choked back a startled cry.

A voice hissed from behind. _"Dean, it's me!"_

Sam!


	6. Chapter 6

Unable to stop himself, tiger or no, Dean whipped his head around and saw Sam crouched behind a clump of scraggly trees, just a couple of feet away.

Meeting his gaze, Sam shot him a forced grin. It was part 'Man, I'm glad to see you!' and part 'Holy crap, don't piss off the tiger!'

Relief flooded through Dean, so strong he felt tears pricking at his eyes, and he smiled.

At the sight of that tremulous smile, Sam's face sobered. "Scoot this way," he hissed.

Dean didn't bother to answer, just started crabbing his way toward Sam and the sheltering trees, ribs protesting violently at every movement. Sam jiggled impatiently in place the whole time, clearly itching to step out and drag him to cover.

The moment Dean was behind the trees and, presumably, out of the tiger's line of sight, Sam pulled him up to his feet and into a hard hug.

Dean choked back a pained gasp and Sam released him with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry!" he whispered.

Dean didn't care. He was so happy to see the hunky pilot that all his aches and pains faded to mere background noise. "You're not dead," he said softly.

Sam beamed back at him, but then his face darkened as he got his first good look at Dean's battered and bedraggled appearance. He started to reach out him again, but caught himself, and instead made a quick check on the tiger.

Eyes half-closed, the big cat still lazed on its hummock, contentment in every line of its big body. It seemed to have no interest at all in what the two pesky humans were up to.

Reassured that they weren't going to be eaten, at least not now, Sam slipped a supporting arm around Dean's shoulders and the two men slipped away through the trees, Sam keeping an eye out behind them for the tiger, just in case.

ΩΩΩ

By the time they made it back to the clearing, the only thing keeping Dean on his feet was Sam's strong arm around him. "Sorry, man," he said breathlessly. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Well, you look like hammered crap, so. . ." Sam grinned, pleased when that got a small chuckle out of Dean.

After looking around the clearing, he settled Dean against the base of a large tree, thinking that its thick foliage would give him some welcome respite from the sun. "That okay?"

"Better," Dean said, with a sigh of relief. _Man_. Sitting down was _awesome_.

Crouching down beside him, Sam said, a little tentatively, "I need to take a look at you."

Dean murmured an assent, watching contentedly through shuttered eyes as Sam sorted through the ugly bruises littering Dean's torso.

After a couple of minutes, Sam blew out an angry breath. "I'm pretty sure at least two of your ribs are broken. Did those bastards do all this?"

"Hmm." Dean shifted, winced. "Most of it. Might have to give the tiger some credit, though."

Sam snorted. "At least he didn't eat you."

"It's like with bears. All you have to do is run faster than the other guy." Dean tried to smile, but the sound of Camo Man's dying was a little too close, and it faded quickly.

"Did you take any hits to the head?" Not waiting for an answer, Sam looked into Dean's eyes. "Don't think there's a concussion." Mouth tight, he muttered, "Damn it, I wish we had some water. You need to hydrate."

"Oh." With a bit of an effort, Dean leaned forward, nodding to the pack on his back. "Gimme a hand?"

Mentally giving himself a smack in the head, Sam eased the pack off Dean's shoulders. Seriously, how had he not seen that before?

Once the pack was on his lap, Dean dug into it and pulled out the half-empty water bottle. He handed it to Sam with a gesture of triumph, but Sam shook his head and tried to hand it back.

"I'm good, you need –"

"You first," Dean insisted.

Giving in to the stubborn look on Dean's face, Sam unscrewed the cap on the bottle and took two small sips, then handed the bottle back. "Now, you finish it," he said firmly. "You need it."

Dean didn't feel particularly thirsty, but he was too tired to argue, so he did as he was told and, thirsty or not, he did feel a little better for it.

Bottle empty, he put it aside and looked over at the helicopter. "That's - I'm sorry about Bee Bee, Sam."

"Yeah." The pilot looked with regret at his crumpled darling. "She was a good girl."

"How mad do you think your boss is going to be?"

Sam looked confused. "My boss?"

"Because of –" Dean waved toward the copter.

" _Oh_ ," Sam said, surprised. "I thought you knew. _I'm_ the boss."

"Wow." Dean blinked. "That's – cool." He shifted a bit, trying to find a comfortable position. "You think you can fix her?"

"Maybe." Sam hesitated, then admitted reluctantly, "Probably not."

Dean sighed. "Sucks."

Sam nodded absently, mind on something else. "Dean, last night - after the tiger – what the hell happened to you?"

"I spent the night in a thorn bush," Dean said matter-of-factly. "Then, this morning, I went looking for you." He shifted his position again, then gave it up, leaning wearily back against the tree.

"Hell." Sam frowned. His ribs ached just _looking_ at Dean. "Hold on."

Trying to be as gentle as possible, he helped the injured man move forward a bit, then slid in behind, settling himself against the tree. Then he pulled Dean back into the V of his long legs. "Lean back. Relax."

Dean lay back gingerly against Sam's chest, sighing contentedly when Sam's arms closed around him. His hunky pilot's broad, muscular chest was _much_ better than the knobby tree.

After a few minutes, he said quietly, "What happened to _you_ last night?"

Sam's face was grim. "Once all the screaming and shooting stopped, the other two guys disappeared, and you – hell, you were just _gone_." His arms tightened around Dean, just a bit.

Dean hmmed questioningly. "So, you went after them?"

"Yeah. I managed to suss out the direction they were going and got close enough to see you weren't with them, so –" Sam shrugged. "I came back. It was stupid. I never should've left in the first place."

"You had no way of knowing," Dean protested.

Sam shrugged again.

Wanting to get the man's mind off what he clearly thought was a dereliction of duty, Dean said, "You sure the S&R guys are coming?"

"Yes," Sam said surprised. "Why?"

"I thought maybe the tracker in the copter. . ." Dean trailed off.

"No, it's fine. They're coming. We're not that far in. We'll be fine." Sam looked down at the man in his arms and said diffidently, "Uh, Dean. That Falcone guy. . ."

"Huh?"

"That guy. Eddie Falcone. Are you two together?"

Dean blinked, realizing he hadn't even thought about his ex since he'd climbed on board the Bumble Bee. Tilting back his head, he squinted up at Sam. "Not anymore."

"No?"

" _No_." Dean's green eyes narrowed. "I have a rule. When I'm with a guy, I'm _with_ that guy, and no one else. So, if I find my guy with his dick up someone else's ass –"

Sam winced. "Ouch."

"And in our own bed." Dean's voice was thick with contempt. "Found out he's been fucking around for a while. Dude's a freaking tool."

There was a significant, very speaking pause.

"You have a special reason for asking?" A slight smile lurked at the corner of Dean's mouth.

"Well. . ." Sam hesitated.

Dean rolled his eyes. Ignoring the screech from his ribs, he reached up, pulled Sam's head down, and buried whatever the pilot had been going to say in a bruising kiss.

Several mind-blowing, pants-tightening minutes later, Sam pulled away, breathless and panting. "Falcone is an _idiot_."

Dean's grin was sly. He started to pull Sam's head back down, then both men started at the sound of a loud roar from the tiger.

" _Shit_." Eyes wide, Sam's hand went to the gun in his belt.

Dean snorted. "That'll just piss him off. Come on, get me up!"

The two got to their feet to the sound of another roar from the cat. Then another sound, a loud rotary _thwacking_ from the east.

A huge grin blossomed on Sam's face as a large helicopter came into view. In a couple of minutes, a large Metro-Dade Fire Department helicopter was hovering over the clearing, a couple of men at its open side door waving down at them.

Dean -filthy, starving, aching and exhausted, but still feeling pretty damned good - smiled at Sam. "Dude. _Beer_."

"A shower." Sam laughed. "No - a _hot tub_."

The two men stared heatedly at each other for a long moment, caught up in the many directions _that_ could take them, and then Dean cleared his throat. "Cheeseburgers."

Sam groaned, then grasped Dean's arm, as if inspired. " _Pie_."

Awestruck, Dean stared at the pilot.

Sam was, truly, the perfect man.

Possibilities thrumming between them, they retreated to the edge of the clearing as the men above waved them back and the rescue helicopter began its descent.

"You know what I really want to do once we get outta here?" Dean shouted over the noise of the rotors.

Sam grinned.

"Yeah, that, too." Dean snickered. "But I want to take that other helicopter up and see the sharks again." He pressed close to Sam. "That was awesome."

"Yeah?" Sam looked down into Dean's laughing green eyes and planted a kiss on his beautiful man's forehead. "Yeah. We can do that."

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((THE FREAKING END)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Yay! Thanks for reading! If you liked it, let me know. Feedback is the is the cherry on top of a writer's cheesecake.


	7. EPILOGUE

Dean had never liked zoos, not even as a kid. No matter how hard they tried to make the enclosures into something resembling the animals' natural habitat, they were still just cages, and you could see that in the animals' eyes, especially the predators and primates. The herd animals, maybe not so much, and Dean wasn't too sure about the reptiles. Reptiles were all muscle, right, and not much brain? If their stomachs were full, did they even care where they slept?

But, zoo or not, cages or not, this was something he owed, so, one hand brushing against Sam's, and the other clutching an ice cream cone, Dean stood at the front of the tiger enclosure, looking in at the big cat who'd saved his life.

The tiger lay dozing in the middle of a large, grassy enclosure, looking much as he had the last time Dean had seen him in the Glades. And, Dean was pleased to see, he wasn't alone. Two other tigers, one fully grown and one leggy adolescent, shared the enclosure.

To the delight of the children crowding the fence, the youngest tiger was chasing a big, red ball across the grass near the stretch of water separating the enclosure from the high fence. The other tiger lay not far away from the Glades tiger, a large pumpkin cradled incongruously between its front paws.

As the crowd watched the trio of cats, an enthusiastic leap by the adolescent took it into the water after the ball and sent a huge spray of water over the other two tigers.

Instantly the two adults leaped to their feet and bounded toward the rambunctious youngster. Cries of alarm from the watching tourists filled the air, but a nearby zoo employee didn't move, just grinned, knowing exactly what was coming.

In seconds all three tigers were rolling around in the water in a crazy mad rugger scrum that had everyone laughing in relief, dozens of cell phones recording the feline battle royale.

Watching the cats play, Dean leaned against Sam who was laughing uproariously. Dean's grin was big, way too big, _clown_ big, but he couldn't help it. It was just too freaking awesome.

More tourists started jostling around the enclosure, trying to catch the impromptu show. In the confusion, a harassed-looking man with a screaming toddler on his shoulders knocked Dean's ice cream cone to the ground without even noticing.

"Let's get out of here, okay?" Sam half-shouted through the din.

With one last look at the roughhousing felines, Dean nodded and the two moved out of the crowd, continuing along the cobblestone path and following the signs directing them to the zoo's exit.

"You were right about not telling Fish and Game about the dead poacher," Sam said quietly. "I wasn't sure at first, but now, yeah. You were right."

Dean nodded in agreement. Personally, he thought the tiger deserved a medal and free sirloin for the rest of his life for removing the poacher from the gene pool. But, most people tended to get a little hysterical when someone got _eaten_ , so he and Sam had kept their mouths shut.

And, since the tiger hadn't told anyone either, he'd be staying at the zoo, with others of his kind. Not free, but, hopefully, content. Maybe even happy.

A definite step up from being hunted by brain-dead asshats.

"Have you thought about what we talked about earlier?" Sam asked a few minutes later as the two edged past a group of tourists pushing into one of the zoo's many gift shops.

Dean cast a quick glance at his companion. Though he'd known the pilot for less than a month, and a good part of that had been tied up with their Everglades adventure, police questioning, and a short hospital stay, he could see that Sam's carefully casual question was anything _but_ casual.

Truth be told, the man was a romantic, a total hearts and flowers kinda guy. Affectionate and caring, after the train wreck of Dean's ex, the Texan was loving the attention.

To show his appreciation, on the seventh day they were together, Dean had surprised Sam by waking him in bed with a tray full of scrambled eggs and bacon, toast, orange juice and, of course, coffee.

At Sam's look of astonishment, Dean had simply said, "I'm not much of a cook, but I can handle eggs and bacon. Dig in, dude."

Sam had nodded slowly and given him a sweet smile. He hadn't said much beyond thanks, but Dean had the distinct impression that the man hadn't been spoiled much, if at all, during his earlier relationships.

Lost in reverie, Dean had been a bit too long in answering. Sam's face fell, and he said awkwardly, "It's okay to say no, Dean."

Dean stopped abruptly and pulled the big man to the side, out of the flow of pedestrians. "It's not that, Sam. I've been thinking about it pretty much nonstop ever since you asked me," he said earnestly.

"Yeah?" Sam couldn't hide his swiftly rekindling hope.

"Oh, _fuck_ yeah!" Dean reassured him.

"And?"

"Well, at first I thought it was too soon. _Way_ too soon."

"You're worried it's a rebound from your asshole ex," Sam guessed.

"Sure, yeah," Dean admitted. "You and I, we've known each other, what, four weeks? Plus, there's my job in Austin. And my friends. Picking up and moving here would be a huge pain, but. . . uh. . ." He zoned out, eyes glazing a little.

Sam's eyes narrowed. He leaned in close to Dean and clasped the back of his neck, ignoring the curious glances of passersby. "You're thinking about last night, aren't you?" he whispered huskily into Dean's ear.

Dean's mouth went dry. "And this morning."

Sam's eyes heated.

"Sam. . ." Dean shook himself, trying to get back on track. "I dunno, I just - it feels like we might _have_ something here."

"And?" Sam prodded, eyes intent.

"Well, I can always find another job." Dean shrugged. "And my friends can visit."

Sam's smile was huge. "So – that's a yes?"

"Life is short." Dean bumped hips with his hot pilot and smiled up at him. "Why waste it?"

(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

I wasn't planning an epilogue, but I got a few questions as to what was going to happen to the tiger. Which, of course, got me interested, so here you are! I love a happy ending!


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